


Firefly

by lameafpun



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 21:02:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20936705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lameafpun/pseuds/lameafpun
Summary: While fire was interesting, you didn't find it nearly as fascinating as a pyromaniac probably would. Considering your soulmate-tattoo . . . should you be concerned?





	Firefly

The tattoo was beautiful - oranges, reds, and yellows that wrapped around your forearm, going all the way up to your shoulder and down to your wrist, flaring and fiery and hot and yours. 

A bit ironic, though, considering your mother’s village had burned down, and so it had scared the absolute shit out of your parents. Their tattoos were small, lovely, and fit them, the perfect soul mates, perfectly.

Your mother was small and slight, the librarian at the library in the center of the city. Your father was the owner of the small convenient store/restaurant that you all lived over, simply called Mini-to-MediumStop (he thought it was hilarious). They shared a tattoo of a book, its pages opening up for a wave that crashed out of the pages, the moon and stares reflected in the water. The entire tattoo was about the size of an orange. Your mother's was in the crook of her elbow, your father’s on the back of his calf. Their story had been like a fairytale - she had dropped a book on the beach, where she was vacationing with her family. He had picked it up, noticed her mark and the rest was history. 

(Their wedding had been on the beach)

-

It was summer, and it was humid, hot, and miserable. Being a(n admittedly weak) mage with an affinity for wind, you took every opportunity to cast charms all around the house and the restaurant that circulated air. As weak as they were the heat managed to overwhelm you, dragging you down and reducing you to a hot, sweaty mess. 

A series of knocks rapped against your bedroom door. 

“Da-ad, it’s too hot.” 

“Sweetheart, I know, but there are customers - “ 

And you groan, because more customers mean more food and more money to put away for the house your parents want to buy on the coast when they’re old. There’s a jar of coins hidden, far back in a floorboard in the attic and it’s nowhere near full. 

The sheets on the bed stick to your bare skin as you stand up and you wince as you peel them off. If you could, you’d walk around naked because at this point; the heat was really too much. Even in your tank top and shorts it felt like you were wearing a parka. 

When you stand up, your other hand finds it way to your tattoo and absentmindedly traces over the lines of flame. It was tingling. 

-

“Dad! I’m downstairs, whaddaya need?” 

Yennifer, the only other employee of the shop, comes into view as you bound down the stairs. Her long black hair was done up in a bun, covered by a hairnet and she was digging through the freezer furiously. 

“Ice flavoring, and a shit load of it - sorry.” She swore again, taking out armfuls of colorful boxes with cones of ice on the front. “Get the ice!” 

“Right!” Yanking down the apron from the hanger next to the staircase, you rush over to the freezer, casting fan charms as you went. 

-

“Okay Miss, a cherry ice, a blue raspberry ice and two bowls of plain ice.” You announced, lowering the dishes from your tray to the table. A soul mated couple, newly united, sat at the table - you could tell because they were gazing into each others eyes with new love - unfamiliar but sure and potent and unwilling to look at anything else besides each other. 

There’s a stronger tingly feeling that makes your arm itch. Your tray shakes. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see pink hair - actually, it’s more salmon and it’s spiky, slick and styled with something (it has to be, with volume like that) but you think if you actually threaded your fingers through those salmon-pink strands it’d be softer than anything you could imagine. The person the hair belonged to had their - his - back turned to you. His muscular arms were rested on the table, skin sun-kissed and bare all the way up to his shoulders where a dark blue vest covered him. Resting on his neck was a white scarf (how the hell were they wearing that in this heat?) and your fingers itched to wrap around his neck, to hug him closer to you. 

Heart pounding and somehow twisting at the same time, stomach pitching and swerving, you weave your way through the crowded tables, eyes never leaving the back of the salmon haired man. He’s laughing at something - a full belly laugh that sounds just a touch maniacal and it's something you want to hear for the rest of your life. 

You’re behind him, breath hitching and hands trembling. With shaky fingers, you reach up to tap his shoulder, just noticing something red, orange and yellow covering his left arm. 

“Um, ex-excuse me.” He turns around, eye catching on your arm and the tattoo. 

His chair is shoved backwards with a screech, and he’s clamping his hands down on your shoulders. Onyx-black eyes alternate between staring at your arm and gazing into your eyes. There was a child-like wonder that was shining in his eyes and you couldn’t deny the way it made your heart jump. 

“You’re my soulmate.” He whispers and his hot breath fans your face, the scent of cherry filling your nose. Everything about him is warm.

A tooth-filled grin nearly splits his face in half. “YOU’RE MY SOULMATE!” 

**Author's Note:**

> back at it again with my old writing


End file.
